I
Thursday, May 24, 2007
How Much Olive Oil For Dogs
This time will be different want an issue (brief tour of masochism)
I
edition of adjectives, I
a deafening cry, a little blood
native
a puff of his breath.
For the nights are not epileptic in his sweat towel
and his music is nothing more than an annoying gap
that takes the winds that anyone ignorantly, breathe.
Green is no longer drink you, is no longer erase.
movements are expired in that box is your image, your smell
extinguished, like a star at nightfall.
And the light woke me up making me notice
that the sun never
thought out and yesterday was his last morning. I want an edit
metaphors,
have been miserable ever talk
frequency from routine;
not do science with accidents.
The altar with the time consuming and delicate slow
reflected, trapped in the mirror, and is no longer even a shadow of someone dead
a million years ago. It is no longer sign
silence you is let you fly to the immaculate death
endure, however, is give me a reason to kill
monochromatic bodies around me. I
edition of bars, a dance aesthetic
and static,
the last drop of your saliva,
see you dying, diluted.
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